


Pigs fly

by Deer_Pastel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Comedy, Gen, Humour, Russia be bullying America for the money, and England is amused, he appreciates these types of humour, honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 12:02:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16017515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deer_Pastel/pseuds/Deer_Pastel
Summary: And England hung up. He scrolled through his contacts afterwards, then put his phone to his ear as he waited for the other to pick up.“How much do you want?”“€20”





	Pigs fly

**Author's Note:**

> A very random ficlet for the hec of it tht turned out,,,,, fairly decent.

“Can I borrow some money?” 

An impressive eye brow raised. England weighed his options; either be a pushover and hand over whatever value the Russian asked for and lose his pride, or stand up to the Russian albeit in a low-key manner, and retain some dignity that he had left.

England didn’t want to be a pushover—he was the British Empire back in the day, in no way was he going to make that period seem like a fluke.

“I’ll give you money when pigs fly.” England instantly shut his mouth with a click after the slip. He was supposed to think about it a bit thoroughly though, not just jump in front of a bullet—or in this sense, a ruddy tap. He bit his tongue even after he could feel it tingle at the pressure applied.

“Okay.” Russia wasn’t fazed. He didn’t delve into the dreadful threatening chuckle he’d make when someone gave him an answer he didn’t like, but instead turned around and left the coffee place without further dallying.

England _would_ feel relieved but considering it was concerning Russia, he felt a foreboding pricking on his thumbs.

 

 

Shuffling through his papers, England sipped his tea, warm as he liked it, with one hand as the other made some additional notes with a pencil. 

Silently, England mused; albeit without admitting his concern, as to how peaceful it was. At times like these, after the long meetings, America would be knocking down his door to go out and ‘sight see’(even though they have been to France a hefty number of times for previous summits, and England had never fancied being out and getting caught by the frog appreciating his architecture).

His phone rang, and when England took a peep at whomever was calling by the ID, he exhaled loudly. “Thought too soon,” he mourned, before putting down his pencil and answering the phone.

“Hello?” Admittedly, England’s curiosity was peeked. He could here America’s side crackling, that could only mean there was strong wind, from wherever he was calling.  _‘It’s not_ that  _windy outside, though_ ,’ thought England after taking a glance at the open window.

_“Uh, yeah, England?”_ America sounded breathless on the other side, and England’s brows started to furrow. _“Russia just strapped me to a plane and I’m **very** high up so please call help.” _

England wasn’t listening.

He never thought the lad would see his statement as a challenge.

For a moment England was impressed by Russia. Nobody took his words _so_ seriously (let alone a bloody _metaphor_ ) unless it was America, but he was a completely different case.

_“Hey, England? Do you—“_

And England hung up. He scrolled through his contacts afterwards, then put his phone to his ear as he waited for the other to pick up.

“How much do you want?”

_“€20”_


End file.
